


Throw Away The Key

by skivvysupreme



Series: The Cuffed Verse [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Cheerio Blaine, M/M, Skank Kurt Hummel, Skank Quinn Fabray
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 11:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3408986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skivvysupreme/pseuds/skivvysupreme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skank!Kurt is a teensy bit shy about approaching Cheerio!Blaine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Throw Away The Key

The new captain of the Cheerios is a problem.

Kurt takes a drag of his cigarette, puts a hand on one of the steel bars of the bleachers above his head, and watches this problem twist his way across the football field.

The red and white polyester hugs his compact body in the _exact_ right places, and he rocks his hips in an easy figure-eight with Santana and Brittany doing the same on either side of him. His slick black hair glistens in the sun, and so does the sweat running down his neck when he turns his head just right.

Kurt holds the smoke in his lungs and runs his tongue around in his mouth. It’s not the taste he wants, not what he imagines the warm, salty taste of Anderson’s sweaty skin might be, but it’s all he has at the moment.

He hears Quinn and Puck making out on the ratty sofa behind him, lips smacking wetly against each other and Quinn making husky little noises into Puck’s mouth. And Kurt can’t help it; he wants that too.

Kurt wants that with Anderson, specifically.

Normally, he would’ve fucked off as soon as Quinn and Puck started going at it, but by the time he’d noticed what they were doing, Anderson had started practice, and obviously he couldn’t go anywhere at that point. This is another point in Anderson’s “problem” file.

“You ever gonna hit that, Hummel?” Puck’s voice sounds from behind him, breathing hard.

“Glad you decided to try breathing your own air, Puckerman,” Kurt replies, sparing a bored glance at the two of them. Puck’s stretched out on the sofa with pink-haired Quinn lying on top of him. She’s got her elbows on his chest as she cleans up her smeared pink lipstick in a compact mirror. Matching pigment is smeared around Puck’s mouth, too, but either he hasn’t noticed or he doesn’t care.

“I’m just saying, dude. Anderson’s even gayer than you, which is like, _super_ gay. I’m kinda surprised you haven’t done him already.”

Kurt sucks on his cigarette, pondering how best to respond to Puck’s asinine comments. “So you think, because another openly gay guy shows up, that’s my immediate cue to fuck him?”

“Well, who else? I mean, maybe gay dudes aren’t all slutty, but Cheerios are, so—”

He hears what sounds like a sharp slap to the side of Puck’s head, followed by an “Ow, sorry!”

Anderson looks in their direction, and Kurt spins around to face the inside of the bleachers, his heart racing in his chest. He and Anderson had met eyes for a split second, there. Right away, too.

Then Quinn says, “I see the way you look at him, Kurt. Just say something to him.”

Kurt has imagined this several times over, and in several different scenarios, but they all end the same way: Anderson backs away slowly, eyeing the little silver ring in Kurt’s nose and the pink streaks in his hair with a look of either fear or disgust. Or, worse, he just looks Kurt up and down and laughs.

“Right,” Kurt says, rolling his eyes. “Because I’m gonna go for the preppy junior class president in the advanced stages of severe hair gel addiction.”

Quinn clamps a hand around Puck’s jaw and sets to work cleaning up the lipstick on and around his mouth. “Don’t tell me you’re _scared_ , Kurt.”

“Fuck off,” Kurt spits, and he should have thought of something that doesn’t sound so much like _I’m not scared, I’m terrified_ , but Quinn just smiles and whispers in Puck’s ear, and Puck—oh, Puck needs to wipe that stupid, shitty look off his face because Kurt does _not_ appreciate it.

“Looks like practice is over,” Puck says, sitting up all of a sudden and bringing Quinn with him. Quinn laughs in surprise when she hops off his lap, setting loose that scratchy, surprisingly high-pitched shriek of hers.

When Kurt looks back at the field, Anderson is watching them. The rest of the Cheerios have gathered their water bottles and are walking off the grass, but Anderson’s just standing there, wiping the sweat off his neck with a little white towel.

Quinn puts a hand on Kurt’s back. “Kurt, seriously, just talk to him. Can’t you see how he looks at you, too?”

“Yeah, dude, I’m pretty sure he’s DTF.”

Kurt puts his forehead to one of the metal bars and groans, “Puck, shut _up_ , that’s not—”

Quinn’s hand slides downward, and something metal clicks around his back belt loop. When he spins to see what it is, Quinn quickly clamps the other side to one of the bars that’s now behind him, then darts out of his reach.

“HEY, ANDERSON!” Puck yells, and then he grabs Quinn’s hand and runs away.

Reflexively, Kurt jerks forward to swipe at Puck, but the handcuffs halt his movement and he just tilts forward, swinging his fists but not going anywhere. He settles for throwing his cigarette, and he misses.

“I am going to kill both of you!” Kurt whispers. “I will shave both of your heads in your sleep and then—“ Well. Puck’s mohawk has been looking like a run-over rat lately, and Quinn’s so pretty that she’d just make for a _V For Vendetta_ -era Natalie Portman, it wouldn’t really be a detriment to either of them—

“Hi, Kurt.”

_Shit. Shit-shit-shit-shit-shit—_

Kurt can’t turn around all that much, but he manages what he hopes is a casual sideways lean with his hip against the bars. He fights down the wild, excited flush of _He knows my name!_ and sighs, “Yes, Anderson?”

Anderson smiles, small but genuine, and puts his hands on the bars separating them. “It’s Blaine, actually.”

Close up, Blaine is not a problem. He is a _disaster_. His hair’s curling a little around his hairline, sweat-loosened from that unfortunate amount of gel, and it’s _so_ sexy, makes him look innocent and debauched all at once.  His arms, flexed where he’s got them bent against the bars, look like he could lift Kurt above his head without much effort— _and he’s a cheerleader, he probably can,_ Kurt reminds himself.

“Well, what do you want?” Kurt asks. He doesn’t like being latched in place like this. He’s finally interacting with Blaine, but he didn’t plan this and he feels like an idiot being, for all intents and purposes, handcuffed by his ass to the bleachers.

“I just wanted to talk,” Blaine shrugs. “I’ve seen you around, but I’ve never said hello.”

“And yet you know my name, Blaine.”

“And you know mine, Hummel.”

It’s strange to hear in Blaine’s voice, but a good kind of strange. “You’re hard to miss,” Kurt says, then adds, “Being captain of the Cheerios and all.”

Blaine stares at him—and what is that look, Kurt doesn’t know that look—and says, “You’re hard to miss, too… Being you.” And then he fucking _winks_.

 _Oh no_ , Kurt thinks, watching Blaine’s gorgeous hazel eyes travel down his body. _Oh no, no, no, he’s a natural flirt_. Kurt doesn’t say anything for a minute, just lets Blaine check him out, from the pink locks of hair sticking out of his gray hood to the distressed black jeans and heavy black Docs. He feels his cheeks getting warm, so he rolls his eyes and nods, “I pull focus, I know. Don’t you have somewhere to be, Anderson?”

Blaine looks around, looks up at all the steel bars holding up the bleachers. Then he climbs up, slides through the bars, and lands on Kurt’s side, just as athletic and agile as Kurt constantly imagines he is. “Like here?” Blaine asks, and he’s too proud of himself to play innocent. The grin’s threatening to split his face open.

“You are such a little shit,” Kurt snorts, and as he tries to take a step forward, the handcuffs yank him back by his waist. Fuck, he’d almost forgotten about that.

“So, I really wanted to ask you out for coffee, but it doesn’t seem like you’re going anywhere for a while.” Blaine tilts his head to look at Kurt’s tether.

“Ugh, my stupid friends, I—coffee?”

Blaine nods, smiling again and crossing those amazing arms over his chest, and his easy confidence is driving Kurt _crazy_.

Fuck it.

Kurt leans all the way over without bending his knees, holding Blaine’s eye all the way down, and unties and removes his boots. Then he stands, leans back against the bars, and unzips his jeans. He beckons Blaine forward with a finger and a “Come here.”

Blaine comes to him.

Kurt wraps his hands around a bar over his head, then pulls his legs up and wraps them around Blaine’s waist, keeping him close.

“Oh,” is all that comes out of Blaine’s mouth as he stands there, wide-eyed and starting to blush.

 _Good, let him be the one caught off-guard for once_. “Get a good hold on my jeans.”

“ _These_ jeans? The ones painted onto your legs?”

“Shut up and grab the waistband, Blaine.”

Blaine, watching Kurt’s face the whole time, slides his fingertips into the warm space between Kurt’s jeans and his black boxer-briefs.

“Pull when I say. Got it?”

Blaine nods and his eyes seem to get a little darker.

“Pull!”

Blaine tugs downward as Kurt pulls himself up, reaching to the next bar above him to lift himself higher. Kurt is deceptively strong, always has been, and he smirks at the impressed—and, dare he think it, _turned-on_ —look on Blaine’s face. They keep pulling in opposite directions until Kurt is high enough to sit on a bar and free his legs.

Blaine stands there, blinking up at him and holding the halfway inside-out jeans, until he realizes he doesn’t have to and lets them hang from the bars where they’re handcuffed. “Wow.”

“Got me out of my pants and you didn’t even have to take me to dinner first,” Kurt laughs.

Blaine steps in between Kurt’s bent knees and says, “Well, you know what they say about Skanks.”

“I don’t, Anderson,” though Kurt does know, and it’s not flattering. He arches an eyebrow. “Enlighten me.”

“They say they’re beautiful, fascinating, _surprising_ individuals, and that you should always lend them the spare pair of sweatpants you keep in your locker when they’re in need,” Blaine grins, reaching up to help Kurt down.

 _Well. That’s all, folks._ Kurt, barely restraining himself from making grabby hands at the boy, places his hands on Blaine’s shoulders as Blaine hoists him off the bars by his waist.

The new captain of the Cheerios has progressed from a problem to a disaster to Kurt’s total undoing. And Kurt likes it.


End file.
